


Blow Up

by SplinterCell



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Feels, Character Study, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 15:48:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8407528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SplinterCell/pseuds/SplinterCell
Summary: Each and every sound he draws out of Jack is a revelation. Each and every one is more beautiful and more precious than the last.





	

Brock has _never_ been attracted to the strong, silent type. Never, that is, until he meets Jack Rollins who exudes a kind of muscular mysteriousness that leaves Brock dry-mouthed and breathless the minute they shake hands.

The rest of the team don't know what to make of him at first. They get used to him quickly enough, but they're boisterous like Brock - loud and brash unless there is a mission to focus on, and Jack remains an anomaly; a still, mostly-silent shadow in their midst as they celebrate their successes and comfort each other after their failures and losses.

He doesn't even cry out that time they have to perform emergency field surgery in some anonymous third-world shithole. Lying in the dust and dirt, pale and shaking from blood loss and shock, and still the only thing that passes his lips are shallow shuddering breaths in time with each push of the needle as they stitch him back together without anaesthetic.

Brock finds it endlessly fascinating.

Everyone in the team has their own theory about it, but the most common seems to be that that Jack doesn't say anything because he doesn't _have_ anything to say. Brock doesn't believe that for a second. You just have to take one look at Jack's eyes to see that there's quite clearly a whole ocean of emotion hidden under that stoic exterior.

(Once, Brock asked him about it outright when they were out at a bar. Jack had just shrugged and taken another pull on his beer, a small smirk playing at the edge of his lips.)

So it really _shouldn't_ have come as a surprise that Jack would fuck as quietly as he does everything else. But it does anyway and Brock gets a little bit obsessed with it, with trying to find some way - _any_ way - to shatter that self-control and break through to the man underneath.

But it doesn't matter what Brock does or doesn't do; whether he takes his time to lavish attention over every inch of Jack's body, or just tries his damnedest to pound him into the mattress so hard that he'll be walking funny for days afterwards. Hell, it doesn't even matter if Jack's the one getting fucked, or if he's the one fucking Brock.

Nothing. Nada. Zip. _Zilch_.

Brock gets over it eventually. It's unbelievably frustrating and more than a little disconcerting, but all he has to do is take one look at those green, green eyes to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jack's into it; is into _him_. It is far from ideal, but it is enough.

Until one day when Brock holds out two little white tablets with stars stamped on them.

“Really?” Jack asks, the barest hint of incredulity creeping into his voice.

“Why not?” Brock replies with an impish grin. “One of the boys down in R&D got 'em for me. Clean as a whistle - no starch or rat poison or whatever other shit they cut 'em with. What do you say?”

Jack rolls his eyes and makes a snide comment about lost youth and mid-life crises and sports cars, but he takes one anyway and doesn't protest when Brock drags him outside in the middle of a thunderstorm an hour later just so he can feel the rain on his skin.

Later, once they're back inside, it's Jack that reaches for Brock, pulling his sodden shirt off with a desperate urgency and cursing creatively as his numb fingers fumble with the buttons of Brock's jeans. It's Jack that drags him down onto the couch so that Brock is straddling his thighs, who winds his fingers into Brock's hair and tugs his head backwards to expose his throat.

And it's Jack that moans, low and deep, when Brock shifts on his lap just _so_.

It's so unexpected that Brock nearly falls backwards off the couch in shock. Jack catches him with a laugh that's almost a giggle, and that's even more unexpected.

“Careful, baby,” Jack murmurs, smiling lazily at him. His pupils are blown so wide that his irises have almost completely disappeared and his heart is racing under Brock's palm.

He reaches up to brush Brock's wet hair back from his face with gentle hands and Brock turns his face to kiss first one and then the other, before he gets to work with fingers, lips, teeth and tongue.

Each and every sound he draws out of Jack is a revelation. Each and every one is more beautiful and more precious than the last, until—

 _I love you_ , growled against his collarbone as they move together slowly, their bodies rolling and rocking together in time to a rhythm all of their own. _I love you_ , whispered hoarsely into his ear as Brock rides out his orgasm with his face buried in Jack's neck and Jack's large hands wrapped around his hips. _I love you_ , so soft that Brock almost misses it, as they lie curled together in the hazy warmth of the afterglow.

Jack never says much about that night afterwards, but it becomes Brock's most treasured memory.

It is the very last thing he remembers just before the bomb detonates.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments are love :)


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